


Days You Burn

by 0_jtboi_SR2



Series: Dragon Age: Glory [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Divine Election Angst, Established Relationship, Everyone Hates Orlais, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Holy Shit The Anchor Hurts Like A LOT, I hate politics, Running Away From Dragons, Saving the World, cass ain't straight y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-02-12 17:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12964995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_jtboi_SR2/pseuds/0_jtboi_SR2
Summary: The continuing adventures of Everly Trevelyan and Cassandra Pentaghast, as they save the world, face down demons (and dragons), wear matching suits, and make out. A lot.





	1. Into The Woods

Trevelyan came awake gradually, stirring under the pile of furs that took up most of the large bed. She cracked one eye open, than the other, her vision slowly coming to focus on the first light of dawn rising over the Frostbacks. The doors to the balcony were wide open, as usual, and she could see the dark outlines of the peaks against purple sky. A cool breeze swept through the room. She inhaled deeply, hoping the bracing mountain air would chase the fatigue from her body. 

Trevelyan sat up and stretched, shivering from the cold, then wiped at her eyes. She was never an early riser; the running joke amongst her advisors was that it was impossible to get an audience with the Inquisitor before mid-morning. And on the rare occasions that did happen, her responses were limited to a series of monosyllabic grunts. In fact, she was half-tempted to fall back into bed and huddle under the thick furs until Josephine found her. But then she remembered a boastful promise, and felt a surge of renewed determination. 

Trevelyan pushed off the bed and set to work dressing herself, pulling on her leathers and boots, then strapped her bow and quiver to her back and crept down the stairs. Although the main hall was deserted at this early hour, the fireplaces were still roaring--Trevelyan always wondered how that certain feat was always accomplished, and whether it was due to some magic she wasn’t aware of. After a brief moment of appreciation, she darted past the dining tables and silently exited the hall, bounding down the stairs to the main courtyard. The morning was crisp and clear, and the first rays of sunlight were beginning to cut across the sky. It would be a bright red dawn. 

Trevelyan smiled. She’d be lucky today. 

She took a quick detour into the kitchen, strutting past the food stores to the butchering station. Reaching up, pulled down the small folding sled that hung on the wall behind an array of hatchets and knives. She maneuvered it over her shoulder, careful to avoid her bow, then headed out towards the main gate. The courtyard was empty, save for a few guards posted on the battlements, and she was just about to call up to the guardhouse when a familiar voice stopped her cold. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Trevelyan tried to fight her smile, but it was no use. Already the grin was spreading, so wide across her face she was sure one day she would just split in half. She had always hated the reaction, frustrated that she should lose all control over such simple a gesture. Also, she remained convinced it made her look like a complete idiot. Thankfully, though, recent events had made her feel slightly less self conscious. Biting her lip slightly, she spun around on her heel. 

She wondered if there ever was a moment where Cassandra didn’t look stunning. 

The Seeker stood with her hip cocked, hands crossed and lightly resting on the pommel of her sword. Even though her stance was relaxed, the power in her form was evident: all broad shoulders and tightly coiled muscle, always ready to move with a strong grace few realized she possessed. Her armor, polished and sharp, gleamed in the early morning light. The sight was awe-inspiring and Trevelyan hoped she would never tire of it. 

Cassandra arched a suspicious brow, no doubt wary at the Inquisitor’s uncharacteristic silence. Trevelyan quickly bowed in greeting, still smiling. 

“Will I ever be free of you, Seeker?” 

Cassandra inclined her chin ever so slightly. “Is that what you wish, Inquisitor?”

“Never.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched, and Trevelyan brightened even more. The Seeker never smiled, at least not fully. Instead, she fixed everyone and everything with the same hard glare, hazel eyes as impenetrable as her armor. But Trevelyan had quickly learned that the key to deciphering Cassandra’s mood was her mouth, not her eyes. From the varying depths of her frown, or how tightly her lips were pressed together, or the rare moment the right corner curled softly--always more than the left side, a result of whatever weapon that had sliced her face from ear to chin. Those tiny cues all conveyed different degrees of anger, frustration, surprise, and in Trevelyan’s case, a sense of bemusement and affection. 

“I am glad we are in agreement, then.” Cassandra shifted and crossed her arms. “You’re not supposed to wander about by yourself. As you know.” 

Trevelyan made a face. Technically, that was true. Upon their arrival at Skyhold, it had been decided among her advisors that she would not leave the fortress without an escort. At first, it had been easy enough to comply with, but now she chafed under the restriction. 

“I gave instructions to bait the deer herd that’s been moving through to the south. I was going to check them.”

“We have plenty of meat stores for the winter.”

“Yes, but as I recall you prefer venison.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched again, and for the briefest of moments, it looked as if she was biting back a smile. Trevelyan took a step forward, suddenly aware they were still in full view of the guards manning the gate. 

“Would you care to join me? For security purposes, of course,” Trevelyan said. 

The Seeker rolled her eyes, then uncrossed her arms and moved towards Trevelyan. The Inquisitor spun around and lead them out of the main gate, across the bridge that spanned the chasm the fortress had been built over. They entered the forest quietly and Trevelyan turned them right, heading down a path that was easily concealed from anyone who didn’t already know it existed. As they moved deeper into the woods and out of sight from Skyhold, she could feel Cassandra relax behind her ever so slightly. 

It had been nearly a month since the night in the garden. 

Trevelyan could recall every single day since that evening with startling clarity, each one bringing something new and wonderful with it. In her mind was a constant litany of firsts, a list she kept referring to in wonder. There was the first kiss, of course. But then there was the first time she had taken Cassandra’s hand, on a brief walk through the courtyard after dark. The first time Cassandra had ran her fingers through Trevelyan’s hair. The first time they shared a bedroll together, during the expedition to the Exalted Plains, when Trevelyan had woken up in the night to find Cassandra curled up next to her, arm draped over her waist. 

As if reading her thoughts, Cassandra snaked an arm around Trevelyan, pulling her backwards to plant a kiss on her temple. Instantly, color rose in the Inquisitor’s cheeks.

“I enjoyed your company last night,” Cassandra murmured into Trevelyan’s ear. “You...did not have to leave.” 

Trevelyan’s blush deepened as she leaned back into the taller woman. Their routine had managed to remain mostly undisturbed, even as Trevelyan’s duties increased as the Inquisition grew in size and influence, and last night Trevelyan had again found herself in the forge. They had split a bottle of strong ale and Trevelyan had nearly fallen asleep in with her head in Cassandra’s lap, as the Seeker read aloud from her latest novel. It was ridiculous, of course, completely overwrought and dramatic, but she could listen to Cassandra’s voice for hours. 

“I snore, remember?” 

“I remember.” The Seeker’s hand trailed across Trevelyan's stomach and up her side. Trevelyan tensed, taken aback by the forwardness of the gesture, until she realized what Cassandra was searching for. Her coat of mail, still too heavy for Trevelyan’s liking, had been left lying in a heap at the foot of her bed. 

“Deer don’t shoot arrows, Cass,” Trevelyan chuckled. 

Cassandra made a disgruntled noise and let her hand fall. Trevelyan chuckled again and they continued forward. 

Ahead the woods thinned out, and they emerged into a small grove of birch and pine trees. The bushes and brambles they had navigated through disappeared completely, leaving only a ground layer of soft moss, grasses, and pine needles. The canopy overhead was dense enough to block the wind but still allowed sunlight through, and beams of light filtered down to the undergrowth below. Abruptly, Trevelyan realized that Cassandra was no longer walking beside her. She turned back to find that the Seeker’s pace had stopped and she was looking up at the canopy while she walked. Cassandra’s face had softened, the hard line of her jaw relaxed, seemingly taken aback by an unexpected moment of serenity. The effect was striking. Trevelyan quickly looked away, afraid she would be caught staring. 

When they reached the edge of the grove and stepped back into deeper forest, Trevelyan tensed and crouched down. While the nights had grown longer and cooler, the frost had not yet set in and the ground was just pliable enough for the deer to leave tracks. There was an array of hoofprints at her feet, pointing in the direction of the grain feeder that had been built weeks ago. Pleased at the signs of activity, Trevelyan looked over her shoulder and pressed a finger to her lips. She silently drew an arrow from her quiver, nocking it without looking. Cassandra nodded and gripped her sword to prevent it from banging against her hip. 

Trevelyan turned back and took one step--only for the silence to be shattered by the snap of a twig. She whirled around to see Cassandra slowly lift her boot and scowl at the offending stick, as if it had deliberately positioned itself beneath her heel. Trevelyan put her finger to her lips again, more emphatically this time, and the scowl was immediately aimed in her direction. She shook her head, making no attempt to conceal her smile as she returned her attention to the trail in front of her. It truly was a rare occurrence where Cassandra’s sheer physicality was a hindrance rather than an advantage. 

Moving through the thick undergrowth was slow going, made even more so since Trevelyan was used to navigating the terrain by herself. She could feel Cassandra’s presence just behind her, mimicking her steps in a deliberate and thoughtful manner. Trevelyan knew the effort it was taking for the Seeker to restrain from impatiently charging through the brambles and bushes. 

Thankfully, they didn’t have to test Cassandra for too long. Trevelyan’s hand snapped up in warning as a small clearing came into view, halting their approach. Through the low-hanging branches she could see the gentle movement of several light brown coats, blending in against the fall colors. Three deer stood in the clearing: two does and a buck, the latter only a year or so old, judging by the small set of four-point antlers. He stood broadside to Trevelyan, gazing in the opposite direction, as the two females ate placidly next to him, picking at the pile of corn and grain at their hooves. 

Trevelyan shifted forward ever so slowly, and in one smooth motion dropped to her knee while drawing her bow back to her chin. She steadied her breathing, inhaling deeply then forcing the air out evenly through pursed lips. She heard Cassandra shift behind her, the familiar creak of leather and softly clinking metal filling her with reassurance. 

The moment came. Her lungs emptied completely. With her last breath, her fingers relaxed and the arrow flew. 

The buck jumped into the air, kicked once, then fell dead. In a blink of an eye the two does disappeared, bounding away through the undergrowth. Trevelyan felt the weight of a gauntleted hand on her shoulder and a gentle squeeze. 

“Nicely done.”

Trevelyan felt a burst of pride at the praise, but was immediately up and approaching the buck with a purpose. She paused only to poke at one black, unblinking eye with the tip of her bow. Her target’s death confirmed, she dropped to one knee yet again and started stripping off her gloves. A blade was produced from the sheath strapped to her thigh, different than the daggers she carried into battle; smaller and with a thicker handle, but no less sharp. It pierced the hide easily as Trevelyan made a long slit from the hindlegs to the throat, then began pulling back the skin, exposing the muscle layer underneath. Next, she flipped the blade around in her fingers, pointing it upwards, and started cutting through the muscle, using the fingers of her free hand to pull the layer away and ensure the organs were not punctured. 

There was a small noise, almost a gentle chuckle, as Cassandra moved to stand beside her “You are remarkably proficient at this,” the Seeker said, appraising Trevelyan's work. 

Trevelyan shrugged as she continued working through the carcass, cutting the windpipe and esophagus in two, then pulling down hard to free the entrails down to the buck’s midsection. “I got my first deer when I was six. My father showed me how to dress it, right then and there. Both Robb and Bradyn couldn’t handle doing it until they were much older.” She allowed herself a small laugh. “He would tease them about it for years. He loved that story.” 

“How is your father?”

Trevelyan’s hands stilled. 

The last update from Bradyn had been more of the same. Their father was dying, his body now wasting away as fast as his mind. The fact that it was his intellect to go first had always struck Trevelyan as a form of an insult; his broad shoulders and muscular hands remaining intact even as he began faltering. 

It had been simple at first, occasionally forgetting a name here or a chore there, so insidious that it was barely noticeable. But then came the mood swings, the complete disorientation, and the violent outbursts, made only more terrifying by the large frame he could no longer control. Eventually those episodes ceased altogether, along with most forms of communication, and now Bann Sandor Trevelyan was confined to his room. Destined to live out the rest of his days staring blankly out a window, looking over his family’s estate with dull, unseeing eyes. 

Trevelyan glanced at Cassandra out of the corner of her eye, then returned to her project. The knife sliced through the layer of tissue that held the entrails to the ribs, perhaps more forcefully than was necessary. 

“The bad days outnumber the good, as it has been for a while now,” she said. “The problem is our uncle. He started sniffing around the estate as soon as Father fell ill, claiming some nonsense about an improper bequest generations ago. Father probably could have strengthened his position had he remarried, but he never did. Stubborn old fool.” 

She said it affectionately, with no real malice. Truth be told, she was pleased her father had never married any of the women he had courted over the years. Sadly, they all seemed too interested in wealth and the Trevelyan name, and exhibited little to no desire in being a parent to three rambunctious children. 

A few more flicks with the blade, and the rest of the entrails came free. 

“I did not mean to upset you.” 

Trevelyan turned her head, seeing Cassandra’s eyes wide with concern. She stood and pulled a rag out of a side pocket to wipe off her hands. Despite the invasiveness of the procedure, there was only a thin layer of blood on her fingers. “You didn’t upset me. It was kind of you to ask.” 

“Oh.” Cassandra’s weight shifted and she appeared surprised by the compliment. “I am glad I did so, then.” 

Trevelyan grinned at the awkward reply. For all of the Seeker’s confidence and raw power on the battlefield, she could be adorably inept at personal interactions. Of course, Trevelyan valued her life, so she would never say such a thing to Cassandra’s face. Instead, she just unpacked the sled and gestured for Cassandra to assist. 

They loaded up the buck carcass quickly, each grabbing the end of the rope and began dragging it back through where they came. The buck was surprisingly heavy and the ground was uneven beneath them, but they made short work of the journey, mostly due to Cassandra. Trevelyan was positive that the Seeker could have easily slung the deer over her shoulders and marched it back to Skyhold with barely a labored breath. 

The sun was high in the sky when they reached the fortress’s bridge, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out across the back of her neck. Their pace slowed as they approached the gate, and Trevelyan knew it was not due to fatigue. The air shifted between them and she could feel Cassandra tense up again; out of the corner of her eye she saw the Seeker’s jaw tighten and her mouth purse together in a thin line. Trevelyan sighed inwardly, saddened at the transformation. It was a unspoken arrangement that they would keep the nature of their relationship to themselves for as long as possible. Although, considering how incessant the rumor mongering could be, both inside the Inquisition and externally, Trevelyan wondered how long it would remain a secret. 

Trevelyan had no time to consider the matter further. The instant the drawbridge touched down, she was immediately accosted by all manner of well-wishers. Skyhold was bustling, everyone now awake and plunging headfirst into the day, and the courtyard was full of people on their way to morning chores. They all stopped to greet the Inquisitor and congratulate her on another fine trophy. Some even hung off the stairways and battlements, invoking Andraste’s blessings upon her as she passed by. 

She ground her teeth. The endless fawning could be too much at times, equal parts grating and exhausting. But still, she raised her hand and acknowledged each and every one, thanking them for their kindness and wishing them all a pleasant day. Cassandra met her fair share of greetings as well, almost as robustly celebrated as the Inquisitor. 

Trevelyan slowly extricated herself from the crowds and began making her way through the main courtyard. The buck carcass had already been swept away to the butcher and the gathering of people had begun to thin out. It was mid-morning now. The tranquility of being alone in the forest with Cassandra already seemed so far away, despite being less than an hour ago. The familiar tension between her shoulder blades began to grow as she thought about all she needed to attend to. Her advisors were surely gathered at the war table, with a list of things to attend to as long as Cullen’s arm. Trevelyan felt Cassandra fall into step beside her without a word, maintaining a respectable distance, and was briefly comforted by the Seeker’s presence. 

“Inquisitor?”

A voice called out just as they reached the foot of the main stairs, and both Trevelyan and Cassandra spun around in unison. Varric stood behind them, with the look of a man who wanted to be anywhere else but there. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, and nervously scrubbed at the back of his neck. His eyes flicked from Trevelyan to Cassandra, then back again. 

“Yes?” Trevelyan frowned at the dwarf’s uncharacteristic behavior. 

“There’s, uh...there’s someone here you ought to meet.” 

“What?’ 

Her expression changed from suspicion into outright befuddlement, as she had no idea who Varric could possibly be referring to. The confusion worsened when she realized Varric was no longer looking at her, but at Cassandra, almost wincing as if he expected to be hit. The Seeker’s jaw had begun twitching manically and both her hands were balled into fists. She spoke through clenched teeth. 

“What.” 

***

“How pissed is she?”

“Pretty fucking pissed, Varric!”

Trevelyan shot a glare at the dwarf as she paced across the battlements, running both hands through her thick hair and muttering when it just fell back into her eyes. Varric, for his part, at least appeared somewhat remorseful, if not quite apologetic. 

“What did she expect me to do? Did she actually think I would tell her where Hawke was? She’s my friend. Those people have done enough to her.” Varric planted both feet and crossed his arms defiantly. Trevelyan sighed and dropped her hands to her waist, turning her head to look out across the courtyard, towards the training area. She was convinced the sound of metal striking wood could be heard all through Skyhold. 

“Go easy on her. She was trying to do the right thing, just like you.” 

Varric snorted. “Make sure to tell _her_ that.”

“I will,” said Trevelyan. “When she’s ready to hear it.” She turned a glare on him for added emphasis, and to disguise the fact that she didn’t know exactly when she’d be informing Cassandra of this. 

In her experience, Cassandra’s temper was the equivalent of throwing dried leaves on a fire--igniting instantly and spectacularly, but just as quickly burning itself out. However this time it was a long, sustained eruption, and Trevelyan had arrived just in time to see Cassandra actually take a swing at the dwarf. Luckily, her intervention had prevented any further violence, but she was still surprised Varric had emerged from the yelling unscathed. Trevelyan sighed again. Collateral damage was not an uncommon occurrence when the Seeker was raging, and she hoped Cassandra’s anger would not be turned on her. As it were, she felt a distinct twinge of sympathy for the practice dummies. 

Varric cocked his head, eyeing the Inquisitor curiously. “You two have really hit it off, haven't you?”

Trevelyan stiffened. He was far too observant for his own good, and while that was a necessary skill for a writer, she wished he would turn his scrutiny elsewhere. 

“We understand each other. That’s all.” Her reply was short and clipped, hoping to end this particular line of questioning. 

Varric smiled up at her, not quite believing. “Sure. Whatever you say, Your Worship.” 

Trevelyan scowled at him, then began walking towards the other end of the battlement. “Or would you prefer that I don’t intervene at all? I could easily let you solve this one alone. And I doubt she’ll only stab a book this time.” 

“Fine,” Varric groaned. “Just do me a favor and remind her that she can’t get the next chapter of Swords & Shields if she kills me.”

Trevelyan chuckled. “Now that would be the real tragedy,” she said, as they finally approached the bored-looking figure leaning easily against the wall of the guardhouse. 

She was larger than expected, and although Trevelyan had gotten quite used to most warriors being bigger than her, it was unusual for a rogue to have that kind of size. The realization was particularly grating. The vicious daggers strapped to her back and spiky armor struck a dramatic silhouette, and the--blood? tattoo?-- streaked across her face actually made her look even more menacing. Trevelyan could easily picture her running head-first into battle, as Varric had gleefully depicted in his novel. She also couldn’t decide which bothered her more: the fact that Hawke was clearly the inspiration for the charming rogue in the Swords & Shields, or that Cassandra had read Tales of the Champion just as often as the romance serial. 

Hawke straightened as they came closer and greeted Varric with a loud clap on the shoulder, smiling widely. Her brown eyes were bright and flecked with gold, sparkling mischievously in the midday sun. 

“That was the Seeker you told me about?” Hawke’s tone was a mix of incredulity and appreciation. She shook her head. “I’m surprised to see you still intact.”

“Cassandra’s a real sweetheart, once you get to know her,” Varric said dryly. “You should introduce yourself. She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” A thoughtful look crossed the Champion’s face. “Perhaps I shall. You know how I feel about brunettes.” 

Trevelyan’s jaw tightened and she fought to keep her expression neutral as she stepped forward. “I believe there are more pressing matters at hand,” she said, trying to hold back the growl that was rumbling up from back of her throat. She shot a look at Hawke, then Varric. 

“Of course, introductions are needed. How thoughtless of me.” Varric made a grandiose gesture in Trevelyan’s direction. “Hawke, meet the Inquisitor.”

Her hand was lost in an enthusiastic grip before she knew what had even happened. Hawke’s smile was all teeth, bright white and perfectly aligned, and Trevelyan wondered how many people she’d been able to bend to her will with that look. 

“A pleasure,” The Champion said. The smile turned wicked. “Thought you’d be taller, though.” 

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Trevelyan yanked her hand free, then cocked an eyebrow as she readjusted her glove. “Varric said you fought Corypheus before ?”

Hawke cast a sidelong glance at the dwarf. “All business, that one, eh?” she said. Varric just shrugged. Hawke turned back to Trevelyan, and her face hardened. 

“Yes, fought _and_ killed him. The grey wardens were holding him, but he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them. He got into their minds. If the wardens have disappeared, the same thing could be happening again.” 

“Wait, back up.” Trevelyan held up her hands, palms out. “You say you killed him? Pardon me, but he appeared _very_ much alive when he attacked me with a dragon.”

Hawke bristled. “When the fight was done, he was dead on the ground. I saw it myself, and I don’t give a damn what anyone else says about it. Maybe the Blight brought him back, or it was old Tevinter magic. Either way, he was dead.” 

Trevelyan eyes narrowed. She had heard many stories from Kirkwall about its Champion, but none of what she had been told lead her to believe that Hawke was a liar. A trouble-maker, yes, but not an outright fabricator. Stretching the truth seemed to be solely Varric’s vocation. 

“Very well,” Trevelyan said. “If the wardens are under Corypheus’s control again, is there a way to free them?”

“It’s...possible.” Hawke sighed heavily, sounding like she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. “But we need to know more. I have a friend in the wardens; he was investigating something for me and the last time we spoke he was concerned about corruption in the ranks. And I think possible mind control at the hand of a demented Tevinter magister would count as corruption, no?”

Trevelyan stiffened. 

She had been ten, maybe eleven, when she first heard news of refugees flowing into the Free Marches, running from the horrors of the Blight. Convinced that Ostwick would be overrun within a matter of weeks, she suffered from vivid nightmares every night, until her father sat her down and told her of the Grey Wardens. He had spent weeks spinning tales, telling reassuring stories of an order that was devoted to the cause of protecting all people from darkspawn, fearlessly facing death when the time came. 

She clung to those tales like a lifeline, believing fervently that her family would be saved by the revered order. It was only when she had grown older that she realized her father’s accounts were not quite accurate, and that black and white heroism actually existed more in shades of gray. Still, it had been difficult to shake her childhood idealization, and the thought that Corypheus had somehow compromised the Wardens left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Where is your friend now?” she asked.

“He’s hiding out in an old smugglers cave near Crestwood. Name’s Stroud. ”

“Well, he sure picked a lovely spot to camp,” Trevelyan said, recalling earlier reports of a large fade rift beneath Crestwood lake and a rampaging dragon in the area. It certainly wasn’t going to be an easy expedition. Her eyes flicked over to Varric, then back to Hawke. “It’s worth a try. We’ll make plans to depart as soon as possible. I appreciate the help.” 

Hawke nodded. “I’m doing this for myself as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. This time, I’ll make sure he stays dead.” 

“That makes two of us,” Trevelyan said. 

“Excellent.” The perfect smile appeared again, and suddenly the Champion looked as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Now where can a girl get a drink around here? And that Seeker --Cassandra, did you say? Is she--”

“I’ll show you to the bar,” Varric said quickly, stepping between Hawke and Trevelyan. He began ushering the Champion away before Trevelyan could say anything. She was suddenly grateful for his intervention. There was no way Hawke could have known, of course--Varric probably had just told her of the Seeker’s love for his novels. Trevelyan was not the jealous type, but she was overwhelmed by the desire to lay claim to Cassandra publically, especially in the presence of the renowned Champion of Kirkwall. 

She fixed a dark glare on Hawke’s retreating back, watching them both until they descended the battlements and disappeared out of sight. Eventually, her ire faded away. Alone for the first time since early morning, she let out a heavy sigh, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. She stood with her hands on her hips for a long moment, gazing out over the mountains. 

And she had been having such a nice day, too. 

***

By her estimation, Trevelyan had been pacing around the giant oak tree for a better part of an hour now, circling the trunk so many times the grass was beginning to wear away beneath her boots. Her eyes flicked towards the line of candles illuminating the path into the grove, then to the fire she had built, then to the bedroll she had not-so-subtly laid out next to it. 

Oh, Maker, this was a _terrible_ idea. 

She hadn’t really expected to go through with it today, of all days, when Cassandra was still so clearly upset about Hawke’s appearance at Skyhold and Varric’s obvious deception. Trevelyan had assumed she would eventually calm down, but as the hours passed it became clear the Seeker had no intention of letting the matter go. Trevelyan had never seen Cassandra that angry before--her lips were pressed together so tightly her entire mouth had practically disappeared, and a vein in her forehead throbbed visibly. For a brief moment, Trevelyan had thought she would be able to disarm Cassandra with a few lighthearted comments, but when she tried, hazel eyes flashed at her dangerously. She immediately scurried off, resolving to just give Cassandra a wide berth and hope for the best. 

But then the decision had been to set out for Crestwood the very next day, and the candles had arrived later than expected from Val Royeaux (and, if she was being honest, didn’t look nearly as “romantic” as advertised) and she was forced into action. It was only going to get colder in the Frostbacks with each day, and by the time they returned from Crestwood she could miss her opportunity. 

So she had thrown caution to the wind, leaving a note above the forge for Cassandra to find and sneaking out of the fortress undetected. Trevelyan thought that in the very least, they would benefit from some time outside of Skyhold, especially since Varric and Hawke appeared committed to a raucous reunion and had taken over the tavern, along with Bull and all of the Chargers. The party would undoubtedly go on all night, heedless of the expedition planned for the next morning. 

Trevelyan continued to pace, each passing moment feeling like agony. Maybe Cassandra’s duties had gone on later than usual, or maybe she was still so blinded by anger she had missed seeing the note altogether. Or maybe she had simply decided not to come. Trevelyan mused over that last option, chewing on the bottom of her lip. If that was the case, she would just have to pack everything up again and sneak back into Skyhold. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except that Cassandra would no doubt find her and demand to know what the cryptic letter was all about and didn’t she _just tell her_ not to wander off alone and where in Maker’s name did all those candles come from? 

She sighed and leaned against the trunk of the oak, then slowly slid down to a crouch. There was a soft thump beside her, and Trevelyan glanced down to to see that her journal had fallen out of her pocket. She began flipping through it, the small book opening as if by habit to a the middle section, where the binding had been cracked from use. Trevelyan could barely read her own handwriting anymore, the poem had been so hastily scribbled weeks ago, but it no longer mattered. She had committed it to memory almost immediately after she had found it, reading each stanza over and over again whenever she had a free moment. 

There was a slight rustle of leaves, the gentle snap of a twig, and Trevelyan was on her feet. She peered around the massive truck at the path she had illuminated. The dense birch and pine canopy blocked the wind completely and each one of the candles had stayed lit, protected from the breeze. The sounds grew louder and Trevelyan saw the outline of a shadow approach. Her heart stomach lurched and she ducked back behind the tree.

“Everly?”

She leaned her forehead against the tree trunk, exhaling slowly to steady herself. Then she forced a smile across her face and stepped out into the open. Cassandra’s hand instantly flew to her sword and her entire body froze. Her mouth was still pressed into a thin line, but it softened ever so slightly as Trevelyan emerged. The hazel eyes remained hard, though, as she favored Trevelyan with a suspicious look. Trevelyan took another breath and cleared her throat. 

_Light, so low in the vale_  
_You flash and lighten afar,_  
_For this is the golden morning of love,_  
_And you are his morning star._  
_Flash, I am coming, I come,_  
_By meadow and stile and wood,_  
_Oh, lighten into my eyes and heart,_  
_Into my heart and my blood!_

Cassandra’s eyes widened and her hand fell. Trevelyan began circling the Seeker as she recited the poem, sweeping her arms theatrically and gazing upwards at the canopy . 

_Heart, are you great enough_  
_For a love that never tires?_  
_O' heart, are you great enough for love?_  
_I have heard of thorns and briers,_  
_Over the meadow and stiles,_  
_Over the world to the end of it_  
_Flash for a million miles._

She finished with a flourish and bowed deeply, as if she was on a stage at the Grand Royeaux Theater itself. She swept back up, still smiling, but her expression quickly fell. Cassandra stood before her stoically, with her arms crossed, arching a brow. Trevelyan felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of panic, wondering if she had completely misjudged the entire situation. She clasped her hands behind her back firmly, her nails digging into the leather palms of her gloves, and started fumbling for the words to apologize for being so forward. 

Then Cassandra punched her in the shoulder. 

“You cannot be serious,” the Seeker said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Of all the poems, you pick that one?”

Trevelyan’s grin returned in full force as she massaged her shoulder. “Would you like a different one? I memorized a few other selections.” 

Cassandra didn’t answer. Instead she took a tentative a step forward, glancing around at the fire and the candles before slowly reaching for Trevelyan’s hand. “You did this all...for me?” She looked away, almost shyly, her voice soft and disbelieving. Trevelyan swallowed hard. 

“Yes.”

Their gazes met. Cassandra’s eyes turned dark, in a way Trevelyan had never seen before, and suddenly all the air was rushing out of her lungs and she felt lightheaded. Then Cassandra’s hands were on her, digging into the front of her scout coat, and Trevelyan let out a yelp as she was pulled down to the bedroll. 

***

All that was left of the fire was coals. 

Trevelyan lazily watched the glow of the embers as they burned themselves down, the occasional flame still catching and briefly lighting the area near the bedroll. She would have thought she was dreaming, trapped in the Fade somewhere, almost afraid to believe it had actually happened, but her loose, sated body and bruised lips told her it was real.

Cassandra’s head was resting on Trevelyan’s shoulder, a strong arm tossed lazily across her chest. Trevelyan kept her right arm wrapped around her, barely able to reach across the broad expanse of the Seeker’s muscular back. The Anchor remained safely tucked away behind her head. 

Trevelyan trailed her fingertips over warm skin, feeling the hard muscles beneath and lightly tracing the lines of each scar she found. Cassandra’s body was peppered with them; various burns and cuts and puncture wounds that were almost too many to count. Yet Trevelyan had been determined to map them all with her mouth and hands, much to Cassandra’s surprise and eventual delight. She silently marveled at each once she catalogued, amazed at all that the Seeker had endured. And yet, despite how divergent their paths had been, somehow amidst chaos and destruction they had been brought together. 

Cassandra stirred, reaching across and pressing her hand against the patches of twisted skin on Trevelyan's ribs, from where the arrows had pierced her side in the Mire. Trevelyan hardly had any scars, and felt oddly embarrassed by that fact, but it was soon forgotten as Cassandra raised her head to press her lips against Trevelyan’s jaw. 

“We should return soon.” 

Cassandra’s voice was still thick and heavy, the accented words falling from her mouth like honey. A shiver went down Trevelyan’s spine. She ran her fingers up Cassandra’s neck and through her hair, brushing aside the braid that had become undone earlier. She smiled at the low, pleased rumble in Cassandra’s chest. 

“You move first,” she murmured into Cassandra’s hair. 

“Hmph.”

Cassandra straightened and rose up onto her arm, propping her head against her palm. She slowly drew her other hand across Trevelyan’s chest, lightly grazing over her breast before reaching up to cup the side of her face. She pulled them into a deep kiss, hard and yet somehow tender at the same time. Trevelyan responded immediately, deepening the kiss and tightening her arm around Cassandra’s waist. Without thinking, brought her left hand out from behind her head to reach for the back of Cassandra’s neck. She caught herself before she made contact and quickly pulled back, balling her hand into a fist. Cassandra felt the movement and broke away, turning her head to see Trevelyan keeping her hand off to the side. She looked back down. 

“You know it does not bother me.”

Trevelyan sighed and glanced over Cassandra’s shoulder at the dying coals. Her reticence was difficult to explain. She had gotten used to the Anchor's constant presence--even if it still hurt on occasion when she encountered a rift--but there was something unsettling about actually touching Cassandra’s skin with the magic, even though she knew the Seeker had already felt its energy multiple times. She had kept her hand hidden away during their lovemaking, either tucking it underneath the small pillow or grasping the corner of the bedroll. It wasn’t a part of her, not really; it was something that had been burned into her without her consent and that she could barely control. 

To prove her point, Cassandra reached for Trevelyan's hand, pulling it towards her as she rolled onto her back. Trevelyan followed, laying on her side and watching as Cassandra examined her hand. The mark was as dormant as it had ever been, its presence only given away by the shimmer just below her skin. Cassandra’s fingertips brushed against her palm, as fearless in this as she was with everything else. 

“It frightens me,” Trevelyan whispered. 

“I know.” Their fingers laced together and Cassandra gently squeezed her hand. “I wish I could do more to comfort you.”

“You do more than enough.”

Cassandra sighed, moving so that they would face each other, deliberately placing Trevelyan's hand on her hip. Her brows knitted together as a thoughtful look crossed her face. 

“They will say one of two things about me. That I stood by the Inquisitor's side--her lover, her protector--and that it was meant to be. Or that I was lead from the path of faith by the wiles of a madwoman.” 

Trevelyan chuckled. “I’ve already been called worse than that. But I think it matters most what you believe.”

“Indeed.” Cassandra took another breath. “Beyond anything else, beyond what people say...I believe you are capable of anything. And I believe that to be true whether or not you have the Anchor. That is what frightens me.” 

The guard behind her eyes fell, and for the first time Trevelyan saw a breadth of emotion that was only hinted at previously. Cassandra, the truest servant of faith she had ever met, actually _believed_ in her, implicitly and without question. It filled her with both a sense of pride and complete terror. How was that even possible? Trevelyan couldn’t believe she had done anything to earn that level of devotion. She was practically a nobody, her only asset a name whose power was rapidly depleting each day her father grew sicker, thrown by sheer luck into the middle of events she was expected to control and a host of problems she only pretended to know how to solve. 

There was one reason, and one reason only, she had made it this far. 

Cassandra’s hand, callused and scarred, brushed across her face with an impossibly light touch. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Trevelyan glanced away briefly, almost undone, and swallowed hard. When she looked back into Cassandra’s eyes she almost couldn’t speak. 

“Because you make me feel like I can do anything.” 

The look was back again, the same one she had been greeted with when the Seeker first stepped into the grove: eyes wide at first, disbelieving, then narrowing into outright skepticism. But then Cassandra’s face broke out into a full smile, broad and dazzling, and Trevelyan swore to the Maker that there had never been anything more beautiful. She was still smiling as she pulled Trevelyan into another kiss. 

“Flatterer.”


	2. I Shall Believe

Trevelyan landed on her hands and knees, hard. The impact sent a jolt through her spine and the air rushed out of her lungs. She gasped, trying to inhale, but in the back of her throat all she tasted was sulfur and dank water, like she had just emerged from a noxious swamp. A dry, hacking cough tore from her upper chest. After an agonizing breath, the rest of her surroundings came into focus. Rough stone beneath her palm, the weight of her bow and quiver across her back, the hard leather of her greaves biting into her knees. The air was beginning to smell sweeter, less foul; her vision stopped swimming. 

She looked up from where she had fallen, green light emanating from the rift so brightly it was nearly blinding. All around her were the sounds of battle; the clashing of metal on metal and the howl of demons, as both Inquisition forces and the Grey Wardens fought through what remained of Adamant. The din drove out the voice in her head, words dripping with disdain that meant to pierce her to her core. 

_Now you have seen everything,_ the voice said. _You know that you are a fraud. And now your Seeker knows it, too._

Squinting in the light, she saw Cassandra on the other side of the rift. The Seeker had fallen out of the Fade on far side of the courtyard, and was immediately cornered by two wraiths, who just as quickly met their respective ends. Vivienne appeared next to her with a flash, flying out of the rift as if launched and executing a neat roll when she struck the ground. Hawke and Varric were the last ones to come through, Hawke clutching the back of Varric’s collar in a death grip and throwing him as far from the rift as she could. Almost simultaneously, the Champion drew her daggers, landed on both feet, then spun around to face the massive Pride demon that had followed her. 

The demon laughed. Although Nightmare had not followed them, its presence was impossible to shake. Trevelyan grit her teeth as she felt the voice fill her head again, the same mocking tone that had haunted her in the Fade. She shook her head violently, as if she could physically rid it from her mind. 

_You are nothing. You mean nothing. They are wrong to follow you._

A roar cut through the courtyard of the fortress, although it wasn’t the same as Cassandra’s battle cry, as Trevelyan would have expected. Hawke launched herself wildly at the demon, hacking at its legs in an attempt to stagger it. The demon laughed again, louder this time, then activated its guard. The Champion was blasted backwards, tumbling across the hard stone. She rolled once, then dug her bootheels into the hard surface and found just enough purchase to stop her slide. Hawke ran towards the demon again. Trevelyan saw Cassandra do the same, attacking the demon from the opposite side, charging forward and bashing her shield against the demon’s guard with a mighty, righteous yell. 

Trevelyan pulled herself to her feet, shaking the fog from her head, then began running towards the rift. Wraiths and lesser terror demons were spilling out from the rift, flooding the battlefield. The Anchor began to flare, surging energy climbing all the way up her arm to her shoulder, and she planted herself directly in front of the rift and raised her hand. 

The effect was immediate. Bright light shot out of her palm and struck the center of the rift. The rift itself began to swirl, twisting in on itself in mid air, a sucking maelstrom that began pulling demons back into the Fade. The pride demon roared in defiance, then turned to face Trevelyan. The mark burned as energy continued pouring out of her hand, and Trevelyan looked directly at the demon, meeting seven red eyes boring straight through her. Nightmare’s voice filled her head once more. 

_You will fail._

_You will fail_ her. 

Trevelyan grimaced as she fought to control the rift. Searing pain shot through the length of arm. It was as if every nerve ending had been lit aflame, but she ignored it as she focused all her might, all her being, on sealing the rift and shutting the voice away for good. 

The demon laughed. 

Trevelyan clenched her fist. 

A bright flash of light, a loud crack of thunder, and the rift was gone. 

Trevelyan stood in the center of the courtyard, chest heaving, sparks still crackling from her left hand. Inquisition soldiers and the last few Wardens slowly began to recover as they realized the battle was over. They began walking towards the Inquisitor in groups, a low murmur moving through the crowd as a few of them gestured at her glowing hand. None of them had ever seen her close a rift before. 

“You bastard!”

Hawke pushed through the crowd and was on Trevelyan in an instant, brown eyes smoldering in anger. Blood and ichor had splashed across her face and her lips were curled back in a snarl. “Why didn’t you let me stay?” she demanded. “It should have been me!”

Trevelyan’s entire arm was still burning, and the pain served to fuel her own anger. “I made a decision. Deal with it,” she said through clenched teeth, stepping forward so that their chest plates bumped together. Hawke was taller and broader, but Trevelyan didn’t care. She jerked her chin up at the Champion and snarled back, daring Hawke to act. 

“You fucking--” 

Hawke was cut off when a heavy, gauntleted hand came down on her shoulder and yanked her away from Trevelyan. Cassandra stepped between them, sword still drawn. 

“You forget yourself, Champion.” The Seeker’s voice was even and measured, but still tinged with a sharp edge. It was the only warning Hawke was going to receive. The Champion sputtered in response, cursing incoherently a few more times before turning away. Varric appeared at her side and placed a hand on her arm, as her shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“Where’s Stroud?” called someone, indistinguishable in the assembled group of soldiers gathered around her. Trevelyan’s jaw twitched. She clambered up onto the pile of debris that was once the fortress’s upper walkway, destroyed by Clarel’s last, desperate spell in an attempt to defeat Corypheus’s dragon. Trevelyan surveyed what was left of the fortress and the venerated order that once inhabited it. All she saw was waste. 

“Warden Stroud is dead because of your idiocy,” she said, lifting her voice so that it echoed against the crumbled stone walls. “He alone stood against Corypheus’s madness. If not for him, you’d all be dead or slaves to the Blight. And you repaid him by branding him a traitor!”

The surviving wardens, a handful at most, shifted uncomfortably and remained silent. After a long moment, one stepped forward. Even though he still wore his helm, Trevelyan could see he wasn’t much older than her. Wide, frightened eyes stared up at her and the griffin on his breastplate was tarnished and dull. 

“Inquisitor, we have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?” he asked, failing to mask the tremble in his voice.

Trevelyan gazed out over the courtyard, clenching her fists, and looked at each and every warden. She thought of the stories her father would tell, how she had so eagerly believed his tales of epic and selfless heroism. Frustration mixed with anger bubbled in her chest, burning the back of her throat like bile. Her hand throbbed. It took a moment before she could speak. 

“You join the Inquisition and do whatever you can to help.” Even as she said the words, ostensibly granting reprieve, her lips curled back into a snarl. “I was raised to believe the wardens were a force for good. Stroud died to defend that belief. I will give you all one final chance to prove it. Do not disappoint me.” 

The moment she finished speaking, Vivienne let out a derisive laugh. “Are you flinging these fools at demons now? Couldn’t you just use rocks?” she said, voice loud enough to project over the crowd of people. 

Trevelyan’s fists clenched tighter and more sparks flew from the Anchor. “My decision is final, Enchanter.” 

The warden spokesman quickly took another step forward, eager to accept Trevelyan’s offer before there was further debate. “Thank you, Your Worship,” he said, bowing deeply. “We will not fail you.” 

“For your sakes, I pray not.” 

Just over her shoulder, Trevelyan heard a low growl of discontent. There was no question who it belonged to. Her mouth stretched into a grimace as she hopped down from the pile of stone. Deliberately ignoring Cassandra for a moment, she turned to the highest ranking Inquisition soldier she could see--a corporal named Perry--and told him to inform Cullen that they should prepare to move out. The corporal nodded instantly and scurried away before she was even done speaking. 

Trevelyan turned and walked towards the wrecked battlements, out of earshot from the soldiers in the courtyard. Heavy footfalls followed her the entire way. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Varric still talking to Hawke, who seemed beyond reassurance. Vivienne was keeping her distance from everyone. Trevelyan sighed and braced herself . 

“How you could you _do_ that? After everything they’ve done!”

Cassandra was a tower of barely-controlled anger, cheeks still flushed from the rush of battle and her dark eyes flashing. Immediately, Trevelyan’s body betrayed her, and a distinct burst of heat blossomed in her abdomen. Cassandra was, without a doubt, the most striking woman she had ever seen, and that effect was only exacerbated when the Seeker was angry. It reminded Trevelyan of the moment they had first met, when Cassandra had barreled through the dungeon door at Haven and she had been rendered utterly speechless at the sight. Trevelyan had to force the thought out of her mind. 

She didn’t answer right away, instead leading them farther away so they would stay out of earshot. “They deserve another chance,” Trevelyan finally said, after they had taken several more steps. 

“‘Another chance.’” Cassandra snorted. “They’re still vulnerable to Corypheus’s influence. How do you know it won’t happen again?”

Trevelyan threw up her hands. “I guess I don’t. But we’re not in a position to turn down fighters for the Inquisition. They can still serve.”

“And you’re willing to take that chance?” 

“Yes.”

“But--” 

“This is _my_ decision!” Trevelyan snapped, voice carrying over the wrecked fortress. The pain in her hand had migrated up her arm and shoulder, and was slowly inching across the back of her neck. More soldiers turned their attention towards them, and Trevelyan could feel the weight of their curious gazes. Suddenly, all the burdens she had struggled to carry crashed down at her feet. She knew what was expected of her--of the Herald--and bitterness rose in her throat. Surely she would prevent Corypheus’s influence from spreading further. Surely she would heal the sky and turn chaos into order. Surely she would save them all. After all, she had been _chosen._

But, as it turned out, she hadn’t been chosen at all. 

Trevelyan stepped towards Cassandra, challenging her in the same way as Hawke, their size difference exacerbated by the Seeker’s heavy boots and armor. Words flew out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying, shooting like arrows aimed at the nearest target. 

“If you’re going to task me with making _every single decision in Thedas,_ then I damn well won’t be questioned.” She jabbed a finger at the flaming eye on Cassandra’s breastplate. “And if you or Hawke or Vivienne have a problem with it, then find someone else.” 

Cassandra’s mouth opened, as if she was about to reply, but quickly snapped shut. Then her eyes widened, and for a split second, Trevelyan saw them soften and turn sad. The Seeker turned and walked away without a word. 

Trevelyan sighed and ran her right hand through her hair. She shook her left hand several times, rapidly opening and closing her fist. The Anchor continued to burn. 

***

The small pond reflected the moonlight like a mirror, illuminating the entire clearing. Trevelyan crouched at the edge of the water, staring unblinking at the dark, placid surface. Her gloves, chest plate, and weapons were all tossed aside; she was clad from the waist up only in an undershirt and mail, which she desperately wished to be free of but knew better than to remove completely. 

Her hand ached from the burn of the mark, so much so that she could barely move her fingers. The hours of travel on horseback had done nothing but exacerbate the discomfort, as she gripped the reins of her mount and breathed through clenched teeth. At first, she had hoped that perhaps there were rifts at Adamant she had forgotten to close, or some nearby that were just out of sight. But the longer they traveled without seeing any, the more her concern rose. The Anchor had never been this active before. 

Trevelyan took a deep breath, then plunged her left hand into the water, leaning over so she could submerge her entire forearm. They were in the last days of fall, and the water was cold enough to almost numb her fingers. She watched as the green flame smoldered under the water, contrasting with the reflection of the moon. She had hoped the water would extinguish the flame, just like any other fire, but the fact that the mark remained active just reminded her of how unnatural the magic was. Slowly, the pain began to subside, and she kept her hand under until she could no longer feel her fingertips. Then she lowered her other hand into the water, cupped them together, and splashed water over her face. 

The freezing water hit like a slap, stinging her cheeks and ears. She did it several more times, ignoring the pinpricks of pain in her fingertips, until her entire head and neck was soaked. Tiny rivulets ran down her forehead and she just sat in a crouch with her head down, water steadily dripping from her nose.

Alone for the first time since leaving Adamant, everything that occurred that day came up at her in a rush. Her vision began swimming and she fought back a wave of nausea. After a few breaths, she moved, crawling back to her chestplate and digging into the breast pocket, pulling out her journal. She untied the bundle and flipped to a blank pages, hands trembling, heedless of the drops of water blurring her earlier entries. The moonlight gave her just enough light to write. Even though so much had happened, there was one truth that she couldn’t escape. 

_I was not touched by Andraste._

Trevelyan stared at the words, made in an uncharacteristically messy scrawl. She had never been particularly devout and could never quite believe that it was Andraste Herself that had touched her in the Fade. The title of Herald had been uncomfortable to bear at first, but she gradually became accustomed to it, even if she didn’t fully ascribe to the tale that had been told. Being Herald--and later, Inquisitor--afforded her the influence needed to affect change in Thedas. She had meant every word she said during her coronation at Skyhold. And she had remained steadfast in that commitment. 

But the truth was much more simple and cruel. 

It had been a mistake. An accident. She had taken a wrong turn, had wandered into a room where she wasn't supposed to be. That was all there was to it. 

Knowing that fact brought on a feeling of disappointment she wasn’t prepared for, but then she wondered if it even mattered. People were going to believe whatever they wanted, no matter the truth of what really occurred. True power lies wherever people believe it lies. No more, no less. That was a lesson she had learned quickly, and it was a truth just as cold as the Anchor’s true origin. 

But it did matter, at least to one person. 

Trevelyan’s chest tightened. Cassandra had very obviously been avoiding her since their argument, and Trevelyan hadn’t pressed the matter. The Seeker had spent most of the ride out of sight, focusing instead on bringing up the rear and ensuring the party wasn’t stretched too thin. She rode forward only a handful of times, to relay information or discuss possible camping options, and each time her anger was still palpable. When they finally stopped to make camp, Trevelyan had set off to inspect the soldiers and circle around the site, leaving Cassandra to set up their tent alone. 

In truth, Trevelyan was terrified. She honestly regretted their argument earlier, and would gladly (and repeatedly) apologize for being so angry. But a part of her couldn’t even look at Cassandra, let alone speak, unable to bear the thought of her disappointment. Cassandra had been the first one to believe in her, so fervently and thoroughly that it was nearly overwhelming. And through the strength of the Seeker’s faith, maybe Trevelyan had started to believe, too. Except that it was all a lie. 

Trevelyan sighed and packed up her journal, hands trembling from the cold. The pain had subsided enough that a small amount of movement returned to her fingers, and she had enough dexterity tuck the book away with only a minimal amount of frustration. She stood and gathered her things, strapping on her chest plate and tossing her quiver and bow across her shoulder. Her gloves went on last, wincing slightly as the tight leather compressed her hand. 

The camp was only a few yards away, and the flicker of fire mixed with moonlight reflected off the trees surrounding the small clearing. Trevelyan cast a hasty glance overhead. Shadows danced among the bare branches, creating oblong shapes that looked like they were moving. She lowered her eyes and kept them forward as she walked back to the camp, nodding at the guard posted at the eastern corner. 

The fire was raging, far bigger than it probably needed to be, but Trevelyan was grateful for the excess. Shivering sightly from the cold water, she gravitated towards it and stood in front of the flames Her undershirt began to warm. Idly, she wished the warmth was coming from Cassandra’s body pressed against hers. The Seeker’s skin was always impossibly hot. 

“You okay, Quiz?”

Trevelyan’s head snapped up. Varric was sitting just to her right, Hawke at his side. She had been too engrossed in her thoughts to notice them when she approached. Even though they were in the relative safety of the camp, it was still an inexcusable lapse. Mentally chastising herself, Trevelyan set her shoulders and clasped her hands behind her back, mostly to prevent her from fidgeting uncomfortably. 

“Of course. Just a bit tired.” 

Varric nodded thoughtfully. Hawke looked up from whatever she was holding in her lap, then exchanged glances with the dwarf. 

“I apologize for earlier,” she said to Trevelyan, looking a bit sullen. “It’s just that--”

“No need.” Trevelyan held up her right hand. “I understand. It was unsettling for everyone. Stroud was a brave man.” She paused. “I’m sorry it happened that way.” 

“Me too.” Hawke eyes darted away, staring at a far-off point beyond the fire, then turned back to her lap. A large journal was splayed open across her thighs, and on a mostly blank page was what looked to be the start of a letter. Hawke tore the page from the book, crumpled it, then tossed it in the fire. 

“Alright, Varric. Help me write this. We have to make it extra dirty, too.” Hawke waggled her eyebrows devilishly, as if her and Trevelyan’s brief exchange had never even occurred. She handed the book over to the dwarf, who sighed dramatically. Trevelyan managed a small grin, but returned her gaze to the fire. Cold was settling into her bones now, despite the raging flames, but she still felt rooted in place. Nightmare’s words still echoed within her. 

_...you will fail her._

“The Seeker was looking for you earlier,” Varric said suddenly, as if it were an afterthought. 

Trevelyan sighed. “Was she angry? Or just mad?”

Hawke snorted. “What’s the difference?”

“‘Angry’ usually involves stabbing,” Varric answered. “‘Mad’ is a typical Tuesday.” 

The Champion let out a chuckle and shot Trevelyan an appreciative wink. “And I thought Bela was a handful.” 

It took Trevelyan a moment’s thought before she realized who Hawke was talking about. Isabela--pirate, smuggler, rogue, self-proclaimed Queen of the Eastern Seas. It had been awhile since Trevelyan had read Tales of The Champion, but somehow she was fairly certain Cassandra would not have taken kindly to any comparisons between the two. 

“I don’t know what you mean by that. There’s nothing going on,” Trevelyan said quickly, issuing the knee-jerk denial that had become her usual response. 

Varric gave her a familiar skeptical look. “Sure. And you made me write an entire book for her for no reason.” 

“A whole book?” Hawke asked. “Now that’s some romantic shit.”

“We’re just friends. Romance had nothing to do with it.” 

Hawke held up both hands in a placating gesture. “All I’m saying is that friends don’t usually stare at each other’s asses all damn day.”

Trevelyan’s jaw tightened and she reached up to massage her temple. She decided it was best not to address it. “Goodnight,” she said, not waiting for a reply. She started walking towards the tent that was set out further away than the others. 

As Inquisitor, she did take advantage of a few of the luxuries afforded to her, but that was mostly when she was at Skyhold. While on expeditions, Trevelyan firmly refused any additional amenities that Inquisition soldiers didn’t already have, much to Josephine’s chagrin. The only exception was her tent, which was slightly bigger than the rest of her companions’, but did not bear any sort of notable markings or insignia. It was large enough to accommodate all of her gear as well as a small table and chair, to allow her a private space to manage her correspondence. And, of course, there was more than enough room for two people. 

The thick, heavy flaps at the entrance were tightly sealed, tied together with a mean-looking and entirely unnecessary double knot. Trevelyan muttered to herself as her fingernails dug into the leather straps. After fair amount of time, during which a certain Seeker’s point had been emphatically proven, she finally loosened them enough to enter the tent. 

Cassandra was curled up in the bedroll, facing away from the Inquisitor. Her breathing was deep and steady, yet there was still tension in the air. Trevelyan waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she was heartened to see that, in the very least, their bedrolls had been pushed together. 

Trevelyan slowly stripped off her armor and boots, moving as silently as possible. The gloves came off last. The Anchor seemed to have finally quieted, and as she tested her hand again, Trevelyan was relieved to find that most of the pain had subsided as well. Even though, she sat quietly at the foot of her bedroll, hands in her lap, and stared blankly ahead. Cool night air drifted into the tent and snaked down her spine. Her shivering increased. 

Cassandra shifted beside her and Trevelyan stiffened. Fingertips gently brushed down her back.

“I’m sorry.” Trevelyan swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean to get angry at you.” 

“No, I should be the one to apologize. I should have handled myself better.” An edge of frustration was still present in Cassandra’s tone, yet she spoke softly. Her fingers continued to trail over Trevelyan’s spine. 

“Yes, but your opinion matters more to me than anyone else.” Trevelyan bit down on her lip, hard. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“Disappoint me? How could--wait, why are you _wet?”_ Cassandra’s hand jerked away. 

“I was down by the pond.”

“And you decided to go for a swim?”

Cassandra let out an aggravated noise, then Trevelyan was struck upside the head with a thick tunic. She immediately recognized it as the one Cassandra preferred to sleep in. Trevelyan stripped off her top and pulled the tunic over her head, inhaling deeply. She was met with the the smell of fresh cedar and pine from the bedroll, intermingled with the spicy scent of Cassandra’s skin. The shirt was big even for Cassandra, and the wide collar almost slipped off Trevelyan’s shoulder. Trevelyan pulled it tighter around her. 

Cassandra rolled over and fished another tunic out of her satchel with a snap so loud Trevelyan almost flinched. She yanked it on then sat up, stretching one long leg out in front of her. Trevelyan could feel the heat radiating off her, the strength evident in her muscular frame even as she was relaxed. 

They sat together in silence for several long breaths. Trevelyan could tell that Cassandra was musing over something, and she preferred to wait until the Seeker spoke. 

“You think I’m disappointed in you because of what the spirit in the Fade told us?” 

Trevelyan started fiddling with the frayed hem of Cassandra’s tunic, bunched up comically at her waist. The tunic had to be ancient; it was riddled with holes and tears along the seams. Her thumb found one of the larger ones and she began worrying at it. “Why wouldn’t you be? I wasn’t touched by Andraste. Everything you thought--everything you believed about me is wrong.” 

Cassandra didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached up and placed her hand in between Trevelyan’s shoulder blades. She pressed firmly, yet still gently, and in spite of herself Trevelyan felt the tension in her back ebb. 

“Really? Everything? 

A hint of amusement creeped into Cassandra’s voice. Trevelyan huffed in frustration and kept looking straight ahead. “I got _lost,_ Cass. I had no idea where I was suppose to be. I stumbled into that room by complete accident. I took a damn wrong turn, and now I’m here. I’m not special. I wasn’t chosen for anything.” 

“Perhaps. Or was it providence?” Cassandra’s hand slid up Trevelyan’s neck and began threading through her hair. “You were right where you needed to be, at exactly the right time. It was a blessing you interrupted Corypheus when you did, whether you think it was by accident or not.”

“But--”

“I’m not finished.” Cassandra brought both hands to Trevelyan’s face, gently turning her head so they were finally facing each other. “You have grown into a tremendous leader, Everly. And with each day that goes by, I have no doubt that you were meant to do this. And I was meant to stand by you, even if we do disagree from time to time.” 

Trevelyan let out a long, shaky breath. “You mean that?”

Cassandra drew them closer, so their foreheads were touching, and gently stroked Trevelyan’s cheeks with her thumbs. “My faith is not placed lightly. I told you before I believed in you and nothing can ever change that.” She thought for a moment. “Unless you develop a sudden affinity for Orlesian cheeses.” 

Trevelyan couldn’t help but grin. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that…”

“Get out of my tent.” 

Trevelyan laughed as Cassandra playfully shoved her away. She fell back on the bedroll, propping herself up on her elbows. The impact sent a jolt down her left arm but she ignored the pain. The tension in her chest and back began to slowly unwind, and she felt like she could breathe again. Cassandra threw a leg over Trevelyan to straddle her, thighs pressing together. She caught Trevelyan’s chin with a single finger and lifted her head so their gazes met. 

A glint of moonlight filtered through the tent, casting just enough light so that Trevelyan could make out the lines of Cassandra’s face. The sharp angle of her jaw had softened, and flecks of gold that peppered her eyes shone like stars. She bent forward and brushed her lips against Trevelyan’s, the corner of her mouth curling into a lopsided smile. Cassandra whispered softly and Trevelyan shuddered as the words washed over her. She swore she would remember them for the rest of her days. 

“You are so much more than I ever could have imagined.”


End file.
